


The Tortured Academic Wine Tasting and Cunnilingus Society

by Netgirl_y2k



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 10:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12629484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netgirl_y2k/pseuds/Netgirl_y2k
Summary: “For a hippy you sure do like spending time with us buttoned up federal agents.”It was as close as Holden was going to come to saying that Debbie had a type.“You forget, Wendy’s also a tortured academic.”





	The Tortured Academic Wine Tasting and Cunnilingus Society

_i._

Debbie slipped in through the side door; she could see Wendy sitting at the bar, legs crossed, jaw and throat in profile as she looked towards the main doors.

She threaded her way through the crowd and touched the other woman, gently, on her shoulder. “Professor Carr?”

Wendy’s eyes widened slightly - as though she was surprised to see Debbie, as though Debbie had spent over an hour wrangling her number out of the Quantico switchboard operators only to stand her up - but she covered it well.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” said Debbie, just as Wendy said, “May I get you some wine?”

“White, please,” and “It’s no problem.” They both smiled.

A bartender brought Debbie’s wine, and another glass for Wendy. Debbie took a too-big sip to steady her nerves.

Wendy took in Debbie’s tight grip on the stem of her glass and said, “Holden’s doing better. He’s stopped pretending that the interviews don’t affect him.”

“That’s not–” said Debbie. “I mean, that’s good. But it’s not why I asked to see you.”

Wendy cocked her head, curious, like a bird. “No?”

“There’s a rumor going around the psychology department at school that you’re looking for a research assistant. I’d like to be considered.” 

“I understood that your specialty was in sociology.”

“You don’t think society had an impact in making these men you study what they are?”

“Now you’re talking about nature versus nurture.”

“Holden likes to talk. You already know that, of course, and I was with him when this started. I probably know more about your work than anyone outside of the three of you.”

“Debbie–” Wendy’s mouth twitched downwards, like she was disappointed, like she had just been ambushed by a job-seeking grad student, one leveraging her ex-boyfriend to even get this meeting.

“Shit,” said Debbie. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it isn’t. I should go.” Debbie fled.

 

_ii._

It was the same bar where she’d met Wendy last time. Then Debbie had dressed differently to try to look like someone the FBI might actually consider hiring; this time she was in jeans and a peasant blouse and the bartender had been ignoring her for fifteen straight minutes.

It was the kind of place Holden would fit right in. The men were in suits; the women were, if not in suits, then in cocktail dresses hanging off the arms of the men in suits.

Wendy fit in; she slipped onto the stool next to Debbie’s, raised an elegant hand and the bartender practically jumped to attention.

Debbie wrapped her fingers around Wendy’s wrist. “Hey,” she whispered into her ear, “you want to get out of here?”

The bar where Debbie took Wendy was different; it was loud, there was standing room only at the bar, and the bartender was most certainly not wearing a waistcoat and bowtie. The patrons were mostly grad students who looked at the good professor like they were just now remembering that they hadn’t done their homework due tomorrow.

“I’m sorry.” Debbie had to raise her voice to be heard. “For wasting your time. I didn’t even want the job, not really.”

Rather than try to make herself heard over the noise Wendy settled for raising an eyebrow.

“I just–” Debbie snorted in frustration. “I was thinking about how long it was going to take me to finish my PhD, and even after that all I could see was years of papers and bullshit and Durkheim and fucking Weber. I freaked out.”

Wendy pushed her empty wine glass towards the barman. “Chardonnay?” he asked.

Wendy held up two fingers. "Whiskey."

The barman looked at Debbie for conformation, and she saluted him with her half empty beer bottle.

“What are we drinking to?”

“To academic angst.”

 

_iii._

It was the first time Debbie had seen the inside of Wendy’s apartment. “This is–” It was prefabricated and impersonal.

“It came like this. I moved to D.C. in a hurry, and I’ve never been much of a nester.” Wendy paused, exhaled. “The building puts on singles activities.”

“Jesus, I can’t think of anything worse.”

Wendy huffed out a laugh. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

She padded towards the kitchen, shedding her jacket, heels, and popping open the first two buttons on her blouse. Following, Debbie toed out of her sandals and left her coat over the arm of the sofa. 

There was an empty wine bottle next to the sink, and a half full one in the refrigerator. Tins of tuna were stacked on the countertop.

“I was trying to befriend a stray cat.”

“Wasn’t it interested?”

Wendy handed Debbie a glass of wine with a shrug that held a hint of defeat. “I think it died.”

“Well, I hope I’m an improvement over a dead cat,” said Debbie, failing at airiness, and turning away from Wendy’s sad little kitchen.

“I feel it too,” said Wendy. “That angst you talked about in the bar that night. I was up for tenure. If I’d gotten it I could have spent the next ten years researching another book that no one would read. Instead I came to Quantico, because I believed that this work, horrible as it is, has the potential to change the world.”

“His sense of purpose always was Holden’s sexiest quality.”

Debbie got the feeling that she wasn’t meant to hear Wendy’s scoff, but she did and it made her smile. 

“And all it cost him was his relationship with you.” Wendy stepped up behind Debbie and placed her hand between her shoulder blades.

“There’s always a cost,” said Debbie, turning around. Even without heels Wendy was taller than she was.

“There is. I had somebody back at the university. I asked them to come to D.C. with me, but they refused. They were convinced that I was making a mistake.”

It wasn’t a confession. At least, it didn’t have to be. There were few enough men who would uproot themselves for the sake of a woman’s career.

“Holden used to tease me about being a hippy, but he was right in that I spend most of time around students and counterculture types. I know how the pronoun game is played, Professor Carr.” Debbie drained her glass and took a step back. “Thank you for the wine, and for the company.”

 

_iv._

Wendy had not been expecting Debbie to knock at her apartment door, that much was clear when she pulled the door open to reveal that she was wearing a shirt and not much else.

“Let me go and put some pants on.”

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account,” said Debbie. "Aren’t you going to invite a girl in, offer her a drink?“

"Come in,” said Wendy, disappearing into the apartment, “help yourself to a drink.”

Debbie was running her fingers over the box of tapes when Wendy returned wearing a robe and carrying a bottle and two glasses; it seemed like Wendy brought her work home with her too.

“Can I listen?”

“I thought you weren’t interested in the job any longer?”

Debbie met her eyes, challenging. “I just want to see if I can take it.”

Debbie lasted eight and a half minutes - she watched the seconds tick by on the clock on Wendy’s wall - before pulling the headphones off in disgust.

“How far did you get?” Wendy asked, taking a seat next to Debbie and nudging an overfull glass of wine towards her.

Debbie took a gulp of the wine. “She still alive when he took her eyes.” 

She looked at the patterned carpet, listened to the tick of the clock, focused on the threadbare edge of Wendy’s robe where it had slipped back just above her knee and waited for the nausea to pass.

Her eyes fell on the remnants of Wendy’s dinner, a leftover plate of cheese and crackers. “You should come to my place one night. I’ll cook for you.”

 

_v._

Holden was doing better. He had a new girlfriend, a brilliant physicist with no interest in criminal psychology.

They were having lunch together near Quantico because they were both doing better.

“I heard you’ve been spending time with Wendy.”

“Heard?”

“Through the grapevine.” Holden smiled. “I’m glad. I think she’s lonely. You know, she doesn’t have a husband.”

“Does she need a husband not to be lonely?”

“No.” Holden’s smile was small, rueful. “But she is.”

“I’m making her dinner tonight actually.”

“For a hippy you sure do like spending time with us buttoned up federal agents.”

It was as close as Holden was going to come to saying that Debbie had a type.

“You forget, Wendy’s also a tortured academic.”

“Well, she’s in a for a treat. I remember how good your cooking is.” Holden finished his sandwich and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I should get back to the office. It was good to see you, Debbie.”

“You too,” said Debbie, and meant it.

 

_vi._

Debbie made coq au vin. A record was playing softly, and Debbie had pushed all the books from the table onto stacks on the floor so that they had room to eat.

“That was wonderful,” said Wendy, pushing her plate away.

Debbie started to clear away the dishes. “Holden used to say I’d make someone a good wife someday.”

Holden had been joking, but he also hadn’t been joking.

“You don’t seem like the homemaker type to me.”

“No?”

“No.”

Wendy circled Debbie’s wrist with gentle fingers as she was passing the table. There was a long, lingering pause where Debbie might have pulled away but didn’t.

Wendy half rose, Debbie leaned forward, and their mouths met in the middle.

“The bedroom is behind you.”

“We don’t have to…” said Wendy, her lips still tantalizingly close.

“I’m a modern girl, professor.” Debbie took Wendy’s hand and led her towards the bedroom. “Aren’t you?”

Debbie had always suspected that she might be quite good at cunnilingus. 

A few times Wendy had to nudge Debbie’s shoulder with her knee to get her to move over, or tug her hair to urge her on faster, but Debbie always had been able to follow instructions well, and before long Wendy's shuddering body arched off the mattress and she groaned through clenched teeth, like someone who was used to forcing themselves to be quiet.

As for Debbie, this was not Wendy’s first time playing this particular instrument, and so she yelled out loudly as her orgasm overtook her.

Debbie flopped back onto the pillows, catching her breath, and Wendy crawled up the bed next to her. “Do you want me to leave?”

“I want you to tell me something.”

“What kind of something?”

“Something that the boys in the unit don’t know, something about you.”

Wendy huffed, blowing a strand of hair away from her face. “Well, that covers all manner of sins.”

Debbie turned towards Wendy and propped herself up on her elbow. “Tell me. We’ve got all night.”


End file.
